Tiempo de Vals
by Acedia's Apathetic Simplicity
Summary: James and Lily survived the attack but were in a coma like state in which they are dead but not quite. Petunia abandons Harry at seven, he's raised in an unknown organization/boarding school. AU Harry/undecided.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the song "Tiempo de Vals", those works soley belong to J.K. Rowling and Chayanne.**

Edited: 12 Novemeber 2011 - So I added some scenes, made it a little a longer. If it seems a little rushed, it _is_ supposed be like that. Enjoy, hope you like the edited version better. :D

**WARNING:** This starts off as a dark fic that will eventually, with time, end on the lighter side of things. So if you are soft hearted then this not a fic for you. You have been warned. Don't expect the Romance to start off just yet either, it will take some time. Bare with me, if you feel this is too much drop at anytime. It won't hurt my feelings as I understand. Thank you for your patience.

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><p><strong>Tiempo de Vals*<strong>

**By: Acedia's Apathetic Simplicity**

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><p><strong>Prologue: Petunia's Choice<strong>

"YOU STUPID BOY!"

The loud boom voice was followed by a resounding smack that had her hands shaking slightly as she peeled a potato. _The __little __snot __deserves __it_, she thought to herself. Maybe if she truly believed that the boy deserved then the guilt weighing her down will be lifted but she knew better then that. She jumped a little at the loud thump of a body being thrown harshly inside the cupboard under the stairs. The queasy churning in her stomach wouldn't be contained for much longer if this continued. Petunia wondered what the boy had done wrong today.

Shame reigned down her soul. The boy hadn't anything wrong today, so why was he being punished? Was this just sport for her husband, a way to pent out his frustrations on a defenseless child?

_This __is __wrong_, a small voice in the back of her head whispered gently. _This __is __so __very __wrong, __on __so __many __levels_, the voice whispered again. _Shut __up, __shut __up, __SHUT __UP!_ The pairing knife held tightly in her hand shook, this wasn't the life she wanted. It was supposed to be filled with laughter, simple nonsensical things with the perfect husband and son. It wasn't supposed to be too irrationally perfect, and it certainly did not involve the abuse of an orphaned child that held no control over things that happened to him. But he was just so unnatural and most of things that happened around him accidental as they may be frightened her. What if something accidental became some catastrophic? No, the child had to be reigned down upon so he will understand that it wasn't normal and such things should not be encouraged. People could get hurt, at least that's how she saw it but now she just can't help but think that logic was somewhat twisted. There could have been another way to handle it.

She couldn't help but bite down on her lip in disgust as her husbands meaty arms wrapped around her waist and murmured provocative words to her on what was to come when he returned home from work. She stiffened slightly as he kissed her neck before he left. Petunia stood there stiff for a full ten maybe fifteen minutes, the small peeling knife frozen above the already peeled potato. She shook herself out of her reverie and quickly looked under the sink to fetch the hidden med kit she had kept hidden away for these propose only. She pulled out the aspirin bottle where she retrieved a single pill which she crushed into a fine powder and missed it with a glass of orange juice. With purposeful steps Petunia opened the small door of the musty smelling cupboard. The boy was curled up on the small mattress; he looked up at her not in fear or hate but with love and hope. Guilt twisted violently in her gut; the boy thought too much of her. Petunia gently pulled the boy to his feet by his (not bruised) right arm and took to the kitchen where the glass of orange juice was waiting for him. She knew it wasn't healthy to be giving him a full pill rather then a half a pill she would give to her Dudley, but she didn't how else to help him ease the pain he was enduring.

She sat down the boy on a kitchen chair and started to meticulously disinfect the cuts and nasty looking scrapes. She wrapped bandages around the bigger scrapes and cuts. While doing this Petunia sensed that she was being stared, the boy was still staring at her those damnable loving hopeful eyes of his. Almost as if asking, _do __you __love __me __like __Dudley?_ She shoved the glass into the boys hands, and the boy looked at her with wide eyes when she had given him the orange liquid, "Don't look at me like that," she snapped only to want to turn back time when the boy looked down shamefully, "Just drink it." She said a little more gently.

She stood up stiffly to retrieve the boy's meal. "Here," Petunia said barely managing not to slam the plate on the table. It was left over beef stew from the night before. "Don't eat too quickly, I don't want to have to clean up your vomit," she murmured to him. The boy nodded eagerly before showing her how famished he truly was without causing much of a mess. She was being nicer to him today, she wondered why. Was it because as a mother she can't help but to want to nurture a tortured child in need of attention? No, that wasn't it; Petunia could not bring herself to look at the malnourished child any longer.

Dread and despair rammed into her at full force, he wasn't going to make it to eight. If things turned out the way they were he will die. She could ask—no! She wasn't going to allow that bastard to ruin her little boys' mind like he did her sister.

An idea had been lurking in her mind for awhile now, she had decided two days ago that today she will enact on it. No more backing out at the last minute, she couldn't hold this boy's life in jeopardy any longer. "Boy, there's a black bag in the cleaning supplies closet. Go get it," she ordered him just as he finished his meal. The boy ran as fast as his little legs could take him to retrieve the item she ordered him to get. While he did this she took out to hidden envelopes in the med kit, one was thin and the other thick. The boy came scampering back just as she putting the dirty dishes in the sink, the boy handed her with a bit trouble the bag. Inside, not that he knew, held all the basic necessities to keep a child alive long enough for some one to pick him up. She rummaged through the bag until she found a much too big sweater and handed it to him, "Put this on."

Not too long ago, Vernon had rented a car for a family outing that they never got around to doing, she had managed to get a hold of those keys. The car was to be returned by Saturday (today), the trunk was already full with some of her own and Dudley's clothes. She stuffed the thick envelope inside the bag before shoving it into the boy's arms while placing the thin letter onto the impeccably clean table, "Follow me." Petunia walked quickly out the front door to the parked car. The boy just stood there watching her get inside the car while he held onto the bag she had handed to him. Annoyed she snapped at him to get inside rather harshly.

Now to get Dudley from preschool…

Hours later the hum from the cars' engine was the only thing that filled the silence in the car. She looked at the rearview mirror and saw a no cars behind them, just an empty darkened road threatening to sallow them whole. It was already two in the morning. By now Vernon would be have already arrived seen the letter and notice the disappearance of the rental car and his family. He would have notified the authorities by know. She squeezed her eyes shut for moment, her heart pound so loudly in her ears. When she opened her eyes she took a chance to glance back at the rearview mirror, her eyes piercing and taking in all the details of the two children sitting in the back.

She couldn't go through with it.

She just can't.

In the back of the car Dudley was sound asleep snoring softly, next to him was the little snot sitting erect with wide eyes hugging the bag for dear life. He looked so scared like he knew something was going to happen or that something was wrong. Those green eyes looked so wide and innocent, so much like Lily. Petunia grimaced and returned to staring at the front, the road continued on and on with no end to it at all, the trees on the side of road were almost a blur turning into something unreal, foreign, _freakish_. Was this a warning that she should not do what she was going to do?

After half an hour later Petunia parked at the side of the road, the time was 3:15. The boy whimpered slightly when her gaze landed on him, suddenly he wasn't looking so hopeful and loving. Instead there was only fear and resignation, "Get out."

He didn't move.

"Now!" She slammed her hands on the steering wheel. The boy scrambled out of the car, she followed him outside without such dramatics. That was another thing that bothered her that left her feeling uneasy, he never spoke but yet had lungs to cry out in pain, cry, whimper, and sob so there was no questioning whether he could speak or not, he just chose not to. The boy hugged the bag close to his chest so tightly she could see the white on the knuckles. She got down on her knees, face slightly pinched, and placed both hands on his shoulders gripping tightly. She knew it was wrong what she was about to do.

"I don't like you or your kind; I hate the fact that you were forced upon me to raise you without permission on my part. I had a family barely starting and was happy…but I chose to pick you up from that basket and take the responsibility because you were my blood and just a baby. We were family. I was mother and as mother I could not let you freeze outside in a cold October or drop you off in some unknown orphanage that could have the possibilities of being abusive," she liked her dry lips, oh the irony. It was wrong. "I protected you from the worst as much as I could. After what happened two months ago, I realized my husband wasn't the same man I once loved. I realized that I could no longer provide that safety that I tried so hard to give you. I realized a lot of things that even I can't name them all."

"Don't cry, mummy," a small hand wiped the tears that had started to stream down her cheeks. She froze as did the hand touching her face. He spoke, it sounded so small and hoarse.

It was so very wrong.

Just this once, she stiffly held onto the child giving him all the warmth she could offer him here in this cold night. She held him so tightly, she wasn't his mother. She shouldn't be doing this. How did it come to this? How did she start to see him in that light? She didn't want to do this.

Abandonment, that's what this was.

"If you are destined to live then you will live. If you really were meant to be special then you will survive," she murmured to his ear as she unwrapped herself from him even as he clung onto her begging to not be let go of and stood staring down at him, she held herself back from saying _come__back__to__me_. "If you keep walking forward there should be a city there." She got back inside the car, starting the engine with trembling fingers she drove off making a U-turn to return to Vernon. She didn't once look back even though she really wanted to. Petunia knew if she did she would take the child with her and that was not an option.

Had she looked, she would have seen the child start running after her until he tripped and landed hard on the cold unforgiving dirtied road.

"…I'll find you." The child promised to the red taillights of the car disappearing into a black abyss.

It was so very wrong to have abandoned the child the way she did. How could she abandon a child just barely seven years old? The boy would suffer more but be blessed to not suffer the wrath that his dear Aunt would receive when she'd return for the years to come with her husband. The consequences to this action would cause the unfortunately nameless—for him since he had no prior knowledge to his own name—child to be damaged in a way that would cause a deep obsession that would be considered borderline crazy to some and leave him broken in many ways.

It was so very wrong.

This wasn't how things were supposed to be, so many things would go differently do to Petunia's choice. Maybe for the better.

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><p>*Tiempo de Vals means Waltz Time.<p>

**A/N: Review and tell me what you think. Critics are more then welcomed and very much appreciated accept maybe flamers, I will ignore you or put you on blast!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, the series belongs to J.K. Rowling.

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><p>Edited: 12 November 2011 - Same goes, I edited and added somethings. Oh and it was Nevada not New Mexico, I always get those two confused. Rosewell was New Mexico, 51 was Nevada, lol. And just case anyone is wondering the song is called <span>Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden<span> which is not mine either.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Dead Man's Island  Area 51, Nevada**

_07 March 1995_

_Dear Michael-Danté Walker, Dean of the Magical Institute for the Gifted and Talented:_

_We are pleased to invite you and your institute to participate in the Triwizard Tournament now called the Quad-Wizard Tournament. Your institute although very young has promise that we hope to see in your upcoming graduates and in coming students. We are aware that your curriculum is a lot stricter and less tolerant then the Salem's Witch Academy or the Texas Magical Institute therefore we are making an exception with our new added rule. The Quad-Wizard Tournament will be hosted by the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _

_Please have a reply sent by no later then July 21st. We hope to see you and your students in the competition on the start of the 31st of October 1996._

_Sincerely,_

_Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge &_

_The Departments of International Magical Cooperation, and Magical Games and Sports_

Gloved hands set the archaic looking letter on a red wood desk, their British counterparts_still_ wrote on parchment it would seem, it was nice to know that. He stopped writing in parchment the moment the type-writer was invented. Red eyes glanced at the paper shredder, would it get stuck in there?

"Hem", red eyes looked up to the noise that interrupted his musings.

"If I may be so bold as to speak," the man nodded, red eyes filled with amusement, "isn't this a good thing Master Walker?" A slightly accented African woman dressed in a maids outfit stood standing rod straight with a silver tray asked curiously. The tray held a club sandwich with a cup of steaming black coffee.

"It would be if their intentions were innocent Alice. I am a very old man; your family has been serving me for centuries so you would understand when I say that they are just pussy footing around to get me to come back. Especially that incompetent fool Fudge he wants me to return back to them so he would look good or for some odd political reason. He knows that the Walker name is very old and powerful, the Walker family left when America was still but a colony. Many ministers before have attempted this as well but this well…." he arched a pale brow when she looked like she was about to speak up. "You may speak oh bold one."

"It would be great way to get your school to be recognized by the Europeans, you have already gotten Indochina, Japan, Africa, South America and Canada to recognize your institute. Master Walker should go," she picked up four tickets and handed them to her master, "they have given you an invitation to their World Cup as well. Make him a fool."

"They are all fools; this school isn't as young as they think it is." He pulled one ticket out before handing them back to her, "An immortal like me should have more fun, don't you think Alice. Alright I will go."

Alice bowed before walking away with the tray in hand, a small smile spread across her slender face. "And Ms. Butler, do mail these two tickets to Alma and Danny. Keep the third ticket, after all what would I do without my precious maid. Be sure to write the letter responding back in acceptance to their invitation."

_Alma, __I __wonder __if __you __would __oppose __paying __your __homeland __a __little __visit. __I__'__m __sure __they __will __be __getting __an __unexpected __surprise._

Michael stared at the retreating back of his maid before he leaned back on his chair and stared at the white ceiling,the albino had nothing to do now. Something that he hated with a passion, he detested wasting time. As an immortal you would think time isn't much of an issue, but to Michael wasting time was wasting space. He liked everything to be done in an orderly and precise fashion. His red eyes narrowed there was a new set of students coming in, another batch of snot nosed sniveling little brats. Unlike the other boarding schools, his beginning students ranged from ages five to eight, the younger the better to break and mold into his way of thinking. It was a dog eat dog world out there, no student his school grounds will be weak and pathetic. Those other fucking schools both non-magical and magical babied their students too much, made them weak—especially the magical side. At least the Japanese are smart enough to implement education needed to get around the world and embrace the overpopulated non-magical side of the world.

What the fuck is so important to know how to charm your room into self cleaning itself that only makes people lazy and inefficient.

He sighed before leaning forward to start his lunch and blinked at the empty desk; she took his meal with her.

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><p>23 December 1995<p>

"Hey Alma wanna go to the movies _con __migo_?"

"No."

"Oh com'on," the girl whined at the unmoving green eyed teen, she went so far as to shove his left shoulder repeatedly in emphasis as he watched a rerun of _Doug_. He constantly got confused by the main character's actions which he usually ended up having to ask his roommate rather unorthodox questions that really weren't hard to answer but were difficult for him to understand, it seemed like a total paradox to Alma. It was worst when he would watch _Ren __& __Stimpy_ but for some odd unreasonable reason he understood _Rugrats_. Alma had a small obsession with cartoons these days ever since he turned on the TV out of boredom on one early Saturday morning. "_Te __prometo_, I won't ruin the movie experience for you this time," she pleaded with him.

Alma frowned, for a moment the girl thought he was going to ask another weird question about the cartoon he was currently watching but she noticed they were giving a commercial, he shut off the television before looking at her, "The last time you said that I had sit next to two sniveling women while watching _Forrest __Gump__—_

"Hey! I was sitting right next you!" She interrupted with an indignant look on her face.

"You had a small argument that escalated to us getting kicked of the movie theatre because the person didn't quite agree with you on the _Shawshank __Redemption_." He continued on like he hadn't been interrupted in the first place.

"He was talking shit!" She argued.

"And you clung onto my arm to the point that you cut off the blood circulation of right arm and you wouldn't even look at Leprechaun for a whole week without fearing for your life."

"Oh you are just full complaints aren't you," she said with narrowed eyes, he rarely spoke and when he did they short answers. But the times where he did speak a little more then usual they were usually not very kind words.

"They aren't complaints, they are facts." He stated bluntly. "Therefore your request is denied."

The girl huffed while Alma just turned the television back on to watch an episode of _Rugrats_ but commercials were still running. One in particular was the _Balto_ movie that just recently came out, "I hate living with your boring ass during the breaks." She muttered missing the strange glint in Alma's eyes as he watched the commercial.

"Don't you have a job to get to?" Alma asked as the cartoon he was waiting just started.

"Nope."

"Got fired again?"

"No, just a day off."

Alma sighed, shoving untamable raven hair back. Adjusting his round glasses he stood up, shut off the television and glared at the annoying Native American Mexican. Daniela "Danny" FightingBear (it was actually something else but for the sake of comprehension for other students she translated it to closest English version much to her father's ire) glared right back at him not moving from her seated position on the couch. Her tall _slightly _pudgy frame made her look imposing when standing at full height but right now just looked amusing in her chocolate stained baking apron. "You're annoying, let's go."

She smiled as she removed her apron, "You insult me but in the end you bend to my will. Ah ha ha, my mystical Indian powers have forced you to submit only to me." She ended the tirade with her hand on her hips.

He raised a brow at her as she deflated when he was unmoved by her actions. She sighed and just grabbed a sweater, "Were watching _Balto_." Alma muttered as he grabbed key card before heading to the door, the cinema was only a few blocks away.

_Figures __he__'__ll __pick __the __animated __movie_, she thought.

Danny and Alma have known each other for a very long time. She was around eight when she first met Alma back then he was just a nameless picked up street rat. She had been the first befriend the quiet barely nine year old little boy. Dean Walker had told her that he was going to be her new partner. He didn't have a home so he stayed in school during the breaks nor did he speak. She always thought he was a mute until one day he muttered he didn't have a name when she started to cry because he wasn't responding in any way to her questions. During that time she had been going through a short obsession with the Spanish language, an obsession that she still has to this day which has resulted into her speaking Spanglish on occasional times. Hence the name Alma; his last name, Winters, was given do to them meeting during winter. After that they were practically joined at the hip and still are even if he is a dick half of the time. Alma never understands the simple things; he sometimes seemed so doll like it was disturbing but most of the time he cold harsh and to the point. They were complete opposites down to the gender!

Danny was a happy cheerful girl who had a bit of temper when pushed with deep insecurities that she hides behind with anger or a slight bit of craziness. She had all the characteristics of a Native American, a carbon copy of her father, she knew next to nothing about her mother. She just had her namesake. Danny was what one would call wild, rambunctious and a bit rude at times while Alma was calm, quiet and reserved with a cold outlook on everyone and everything around him. He had no parents or parent to compare to; he was a clean freak which has wanned down somewhat throughout the years. He was pale with a slight English accent and was obsessed with tracking down the owner of a black bag he carries with him all the time.

"So," Danny drawled out the word which earned her an annoyed glance. "Are you excited about the World Cup?" She asked as they walked out of the cinema. She ruined it for him again.

"No."

"You're always so short with me," she whined.

Alma didn't even bother looking at her as he said with a near monotone voice, "That's not exactly true, I just don't like using unnecessary words when a simple gesture or one worded answer can suffice. If you weren't so emotional and riddled with complicated simple mindlessness then I wouldn't use such long winded words just for you to understand my answers."

It was quiet for awhile, their footsteps only filling in their silence. Danny was walking behind him, had he said something?

_That__'__s __not __a __nice __thing __to __say __Alma._

Alma stopped walking altogether which would almost have had Danny walking into him had she not been paying attention. "Al-ahh!" She just about jumped a foot when the wails of the LA police cars zoomed right past her and almost causing her to fall flat on her face as well had Alma not grabbed her arm so hard she was sure she'd have bruises the next day and yanked her up to steady her.

From the corner of Alma's eye he noticed her rubbing the arm he had grabbed to keep her from falling. Common decency, Alice called it chivalry. He didn't like that term though as it usually indicated nowadays that he had romantic feelings for her. He didn't, he tolerated her but having her upset would cause problems and leave him annoyed and without answers to his apparently "weird" questions.

"Tomorrow we're going back to school," Danny started.

"Is there a point to where this is going?"

"Nope," she chirped as moved up to his side, "Just trying to fill the awkward silence."

"There's the apartment. Keys," he held his palm for the key to get inside the gate.

"I thought you had the keys. Di-did you lose the keys Alma?" Maybe she had the keys since he asked for them.

"Don't be dense. I put them inside your purse, as I grew weary of carrying them for you," Danny began to rummage through her obnoxiously big purse as Alma said this and just stared straight ahead until he heard the jingle of the keys. "Now open the door."

"Asshole," she violently shoved the key and opened the door with a bang alarming the people inside. She took out the key card and stomped up the stairs since the elevator as not available and did not feel like waiting. "Ya could have fucking told you damn inconsiderate asshole but nooo! Not only that you insult me on the way home too. I'm not stupid you know. I know when I'm being insulted. Fucking Bastard!" She ranted as she reached her floor.

When she reached her door, Danny's hand that held hovering bovver the doorknob when she realized what she said and gasped, "I'm so-" The sound of the ding had her turning around were the elevator was, and there was Alma stepping out of it. "_Por __la __gran...__,__"_ she practically growled between her teeth, she had been talking to herself this whole time.

Alma blinked at Danny who slammed the door open leaving it wide open, there was another sound of a door being abused. He shrugged and silently closed the door behind him as he entered the house and locked it. Instead of going directly to his room like he normally would have when she had fit, Alma grabbed a book from the shelves not even bothering to look at the title and sat down by her door ignoring the tears coming from behind the closed door. The next day she wouldn't be angry but after talking to Alice about these moments she had said he needed to talk her about her feeling or sit next to her door, to let her know that he does care or some other nonsense. He eventually fell into an exhausted sleep.

_"…__not __Harry__… __not __my __Harry__… __Alma__… __Alma__…_Wake the fuck up ALMA!"

He touched his stinging cheek from where Danny had slapped him. "You're such weirdo sometimes. Hurry we need to leave where running late! You're driving," the door slammed behind her. He snapped out of his trance forgetting anything about the dream. He has always had those dreams about a woman screaming about someone named Harry though they were rare now. As rare as they were, that dream always left him feeling strange. He grabbed the keys locking the apartment behind him and ran to the parking lot; Danny was already waiting impatiently by her side tapping her foot.

"Good thing we packed the night before huh?" She said as they got inside the 1987 Black Honda.

"Buckle up," he muttered. Danny immediately moved to switch on the radio and began to lip sing to words of the song the moment she recognized the beat.

_Boiling heat, summer stench_

'_Neath the black the sky looks dead_

_Call my name through the cream_

_And I'll hear you scream again_

Alma ignored her, even when she reached the chorus and began pointing at him while holding onto an imaginary microphone. It was going to be a _long_ two day drive. By the time they reached where they were supposed to go, Danny had already exhausted the radio station, had many short lived conversations with Alma, and attempted to play "I spy" with Alma only to be shot down to a whole knew level.

With a final huff Danny shut off the radio once again while muttering that she was "tired of music."

"We're here."

"Finally! I thought I was gonna go crazy!" She jumped out of the car stretching. An ancient gas station slash car repair shop faced them, an old man stood up from his chair he had been reclining on and approached them. He had dark brown almost black eyes. His face brown and withered down from the tough hot winds of the desert, his hair was greying stingy and dirty. He had strong odor of oil and sweat. Danny didn't even try to hide her face scrunching disgust.

"Ne'vr seen you young folk aroun' h're befor'," he started stretching out the 'o' in folk too much, "Wan' me ter fill'er up, we're yall heading anywayz?"

"No Man's Land," Danny said bluntly.

"Ne'vr he'rd of dat aroun' deez parts, is it sum new place dem city folk be buildin'?"

"Where headed to Dead Man's Land, around 51," Alma corrected while giving Danny an irritate look, she just shrugged while mouthing 'my bad'.

"You two were cutting it close." The old man replied with an accented feminine voice as his body shape began to morph and change. His withered brown face turned darker smaller, younger. The body shape and height changed becoming smaller, more feminine but with barely there curves. His stringy grey hair and dark brown eyes being the last to go turning into short dark hair framing her chin with golden eyes, "Master Walker suspected there were at least nine late comers, you two were the last arrive, please follow me." The woman looked quite small in a mechanics' jumper.

"Never seen you in anything but that black and white French maid outfit Ali, did Dean Walker finally stop being a closet perv," Danny looked around as she was led around the back. There were three cars piled on top one another, a further ways down was completely stripped down car, and next to it was a car with its hood open revealing an ancient motor. Everything had a healthy layer of dust.

"Master Walker has done anything that would be deemed perverse missus," she stopped walking. In front of them was an old bathroom door that had the sign out of order hanging by a rusted nail which was also covered in dust, "Please step inside."

"This is disgusting," Danny complained as she got inside the dingy bathroom that had the most foul odor that had thanking whatever deity that came into her mind that she had not eaten anything for lunch yet.

"Danny…"

"Yes."

"Be quiet," Alma snapped at her.

"Ass."

The bathroom was small barely having enough room for two let alone three. There was a silver key pad next to the door. Alice pressed a seven digit code and stepped back. The floor slightly shook before descending down then taking a sharp turn at a high speed causing Danny to lose balance and to almost fall in the dirty toilet only to be caught by Alice then thrown on the dirty floor after another turn. Alma fell backwards and slammed his head and back against the wall and slid down on to his ass. There was a loud ding then door opened, somehow throughout the whole fiasco Alice still managed to stay standing. Danny ran out the door gasping for air. Alma followed her without making too much of a scene.

"Had a nice ride," Dean Walker approached them with a smile on his face. He was dressed in all black business suit his Stacy Adams reflecting off the fluorescent light. "Welcome back, my students to Area 51."

"Think imma throw up," Danny face paled then ran to the nearest conveniently placed trash can to expel her breakfast. Alma stared at her back as her shoulders quaked. Green eyes blinked behind his geeky glasses then turned to the Dean. He was taking out a cigarette and putting it between his lips when he noticed Alma staring he just winked at him. His red eyes revealed nothing.

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><p><strong>Review.<strong>

**A/N:**Just in case you were wondering the letter was sent a year in advance so the schools could have time re-adjust their school year plans for the upcoming event.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I don't own anything T.T

Edited: 15 November 2011 - Not much changed here, just edited.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: A Day of Reminiscing and Learning<strong>

Michael-Danté Walker is a unique business man; he likes everything straight to the point. In fact he doesn't treat his school he runs as a learning facility—no to him everything is business. If a student should show promise in a certain area then he would have the student pulled out and placed in a classroom focused in that area, it didn't matter to him what age that student was so long as he was an asset to him and his _company_. The rest could learn whatever it is they wanted to and become whatever goal they set out for themselves but that is only if they even qualify for his school, after all only special students could go to his school. There was a reason why it had the words _Gifted _and _Talented_ in it.

Yes, Dean Walker is a strange man; his strangeness only stands to show in his speech—Michael had a tendency to talk in old English mixed with the present day English—and appearance. Being a six foot seven albino would make anyone weary of him. Red eyes, thick white wispy hair, unflattering pale skin accentuating veins around his jaw line and temples, baritone and stoic-faced made him an intimidating man. Those who visit MIGT find the Institute to be strict borderline mentally psychotic for the children (seeing as the only color there is: white—mostly white really, grey, black, steel, red, and black) in fact it seemed of more of a psych ward then a school (or maybe it _was_ prison) and yet the Institute still managed to have a homey feel to it. It was comforting, all the students seemed at ease with their living arrangements, when asked that if they felt upset living there by one concerned and worried parent they student just smiled, "I get to visit my parents and my parents can visit me whenever they want to, if I really didn't like it here I could have left whenever I wanted to and gone off to Salem but I like it here."

It is very rare for a child to be accepted above the age of eight or lower than the age of five but it does happen, they don't tend to last very long (i.e. Lorie). The children are considered to be adults around the ages of fourteen or fifteen depending how mature they are and how they have proven their worth to Dean Walker's expectations. Of course that child also must show they have responsibility—financially speaking that is—and a steady mind to be given the privilege despite Dean Walker's expectations, as for the rest of the students they have to wait until they are eighteen which make up the rest of MIGT's student population.

However Dean Walker was also a very busy man he was always off somewhere doing business transactions or other more important things that fall under the category of "classified". He usually left the genius/genus searching to his right hand man or woman in this case Alice Butler, his maid. All the students knew that when Ms. Butler was present in class or approaching one of the students they knew that that kid was one of the "potential Kittens", potential because most of the time they weren't "Kitty" enough for the Dean. The Dean was always on the prowl for new students to enter his institute, he didn't go after Purebloods though, too much trouble, but if it was worth the trouble, then it was worth it. Mudbloods, were more of his thing, it was so much easier convincing the unintentionally ignorant. So it just so happened to be that Dean Walker was in London doing that very thing.

It was on a very cold morning on December 1987. There was a thick blanket of snow everywhere but the roads of Bradbury, England. Michael was just finishing a now warm espresso when he saw something peculiar, a rugged homeless dwarf, midget perhaps hugging a woman's black purse. The midget took a turn into the back alley of the café, it came to him when he saw a glimpse of the midget's face that it was not a midget but a child. Michael was could only blink as he saw the child disappear into the alley, the child felt different—the kind of different that had him arching a brow with a vicious smirk. Oh yes, he wanted that child and what made it even better was that the child was most definitely an orphan and if he wasn't he could always _convince _whatever homeless bum was taking care of the child. If he hadn't lacked any empathy he probably would have felt sorry for the homeless child but no, he could only see a potential employee for his business. Pity, sympathy, and guilt, such emotions were useless unless they had a motivation behind it. Michael hastily placed 50€ on the table he was currently by he was feeling generous. After all if he hadn't been there he would have never seen the child. He moved swiftly, being careful not to seem suspicious—wouldn't want anyone thinking he had _that_ kind of interest in the child.

He saw the child sitting slumped against a molded and grimy looking dumpster, his small arms clenching onto the bag like a lifeline. Slowly almost like it was a struggle just to move the boy looked up at him, empty dull green eyes barely hidden by broken glasses held on together by tape stared into his merciless red ones. His emaciated face was covered by dirty matted greasy looking hair; he scrunched his nose in revulsion at the sight below him. He wasn't worth his efforts he turned to walk away when he felt it. The child looked at him pleadingly but not in the "help me" sort of way but in a "kill me please" sort. The child wanted to die but that was not what he was sensing, the boy's magic was calling out to him. The child's magic was keeping him alive and now that magic was not going to let him walk away without showing him what he had to offer. Inside he could feel his heart pounding, thump-thump thump-thump; he gave a shadow of a smirk as lowered down on his haunches, careful not to dirty his coat. This was an investment worthy of looking into.

By then the child had long since stopped staring him with those vacant eyes and was now having a staring contest with the molded brick wall behind him. He removed a black glove and gave a whisper of caress to the child's cheek feeling the magic that was calling him out, "You will probably die in a day or two, so why should I waste my time."

No response.

"You are a desolate and broken shell of a child. You are no worth to anyone," he said this all the while still barely touching the child, "but you have made it thus far by sheer will of your soul not your corporal self." Michael smiled his eyes crinkling around the corners; the smile was anything but innocent. To the broken child, however, it was the most warmest he had ever been given. The boy had felt his heart lurch up to his throat before plummeting back down as harsh reality dragged him back down. "I could give you anything you want."

Green unfocused eyes flickered up to him before going back down as he continued, "Food, money, shelter, a family….ah you don't want that do you? A broken spirit like you wouldn't want that." He reached for the black purse, the child eyes burned into a fury filled so much life as he held onto the purse. His green dared him to try to take away his only belonging while his magic flared violent attempting to lash out at his. A glint hidden behind fake compassion flickered in his red eyes, "I'll help you find the owner of that purse…a purpose in life if you will allow it. Do we have a deal?" He removed his hand from the child's face and offered it to the child, waiting for the child to accept it.

His smirk widened when the child's' small hand accepted his.

"From now on, you will listen and do what I say. You have no say in your choices or life until the owner is found. Your name shall be…Alma," his red eyes shifted to the blanket of snow, the cold air bit into his unguarded hand and face, "Winters."

* * *

><p>Name: Alma Winters<p>

Date of Birth: Unknown

Date of Entrance: December 12, 1988

Date of Graduation: Student has yet to graduate

Authenticity: European/English

Age: Assumed to be around 8 years of age

Eye Color: Green

Height: 4"2

Background: Found in the back alley of a Bradbury Café by Michael-Danté Walker.

Family: An unknown aunt, the name was not mentioned by the subject though sometimes he refers to her as "flower". The doctors refer to "flower" as the Pink Lady.

Friends/Acquaintances: None but has been seen accompanied by Daniela FightingBear. Subject has stated that he is only curious of the girl's oddity. The girl seems to think otherwise, this may be cause for concern later on in life.

_March 3, 1989, 4:05 am_

_A year has passed not one word has escaped the lips of that boy, to me that is. His blank eyed stare has disturbed some of the others who have interrogated the child. He has not got to me however. The child does not seem to like the thought of my boldness._

_His drawings are peculiar, flying motorcycles, the drawings of three people presumably his family, two of the drawings are round and drawn in black both having angry beady eyes while the other is pink tall and skinny. This pink woman is always drawn close to him but not completely in front of him, almost like the pink woman wants to help but cannot. _

_The boy had been determined to be around eight when found. Malnutrition, injuries from living in the streets have stunted his growth. There are also signs of sexual assault, which is to be unfortunately expected as he was found on the streets. There seems to be no mental trauma however. Ever since entering our foster care facility we have discovered his uncanny obsession with keeping everything clean and orderly. The child has a tendency of not turning in his work unless deemed perfect repeatedly by the caretakers. He has a habit of sneaking up behind his teacher and tutors or just disappearing right under their noses, his academic skills a near genius level. _

_I, Dr. Jason Thompson, believe that Alma Winters should be placed in the Kitty Group. His skills would definitely bloom in that group._

Red eyes looked over the file once more; it was only just two days ago when Dr. Thompson had come by to drop it off. Dean Walker looked at the small child looking at him straight faced. He stood up from his chair placing the closed file on the table.

"You have gained some weight since I last saw you," he started. "You don't like your foster father JT, do you? Is that why you won't talk to him?"

A nine year old in a uniformed black and white suit sat with his back straight looking as stiff as a nine would look sitting the way he was, "I see no point in talking when you learn so much more by listening."

"You're right about that. What did you learn, I am intrigued by listening skills," he paced around the child. He noticed the child shift ever so slightly, Alma was uncomfortable.

"A parent of one of the students is attempting to pry information from my foster sister, Lorie Hawkeye. She has been resilient so far, a few more persistent questions and she will break. Had Daniela not come in the right time the other day, she would have said something. I do not trust her."

"Which one?"

"Lorie, Daniela has proven her worth."

Ah, Daniela, the little Native American Mexican half-breed, the Plain Jane of all his students. Yet she was able to some how pry valuable information of Alma that even he didn't know. Daniela the easiest to manipulate, the one he was able to make think that _she_ named Alma. How easy it was from him to implement faux memories in her. Alma was his best student. He would be sad to see him go if and when he finds his Aunt. As cruel and uncaring as he is, he wouldn't forcibly keep his students. They could quit whenever they wanted. Too bad that he makes sure they are too under his influence or have dug themselves into a hole so deep they have no way of getting out without dying. Oh if only they knew how before it was too late. "I will be looking into that later. For now I believe that young Lorie should be _awarded_ for her resilience, don't you think?"

Alma looked at his unwavering gaze, the boy already knew the fate that awaited the wayward Lorie and simply nodded. What a cold bastard the child was, and so young too.

"Do you know why you are here though?"

"No, JT is very…quiet about such matters." In other words he hadn't been able to listen in. Good to know Dr. Thompson's age hasn't gotten to him yet.

"I'm moving you from the Rugrats department skipping over the Rascals to S.C.'s department." Dean Walker raised a white brow at Alma slight twitch of his shoulders, "Is that an inconvenience for you?"

"Is Daniela going to follow me?" He asked after a full minute of silence.

"Of course, we do have a buddy system going on here. Even if she were to be left behind, I don't think another partner will suit you."

"Is that all sir?"

"Yes, go back to class"

* * *

><p>A boy stretched while muffling his yawn, Alma gave a quick glance at him before looking back at the teacher, Abraham Adams, finishing his lecture of the workings of the human mind. Mr. Adams had a deep southern drawl but still comprehendible, not like the child he was partnered with in the class. He says child because he looked to be around ten, he still had that really thick accent that had him questioning whether the child was even educated before coming here but he knew well off in that department (the child has improved a lot though and he also shouldn't be talking since he still sounded like a Brit). The child's writing surpassed his own and he, Alma, was fifteen going on sixteen this coming December. Alma considered December 3rd his birthday because that was the day Dean Walker had found him and because the Dean said so. Alma doesn't really care but Danny does. Danny…he hasn't seen in her since New Year's Day and that was about eight months ago. Was she mad at him? He was starting to miss her constant nagging and occasional Spanglish—maybe not.<p>

"Mistah Adams, sir, what does dis hafta do wit' magic?" The boy asked while raising his hand.

"Well Elijah, the mind is a very complex. There so much we don't know, and there so much we can do with magic. For example Legilimency is the art of being able to delve into one's mind a—"

"Like min' readin'?" Elijah piped up.

"Not exactly but as I was saying with magic we can do anything. The governors of our country, however, does not like us magic users messin' aroun' dee norms mind's. 'ts not we gonna aroun' too much—"

"Mr. Adams!" A girl shouted.

"I'm sorry, I was getting out of hand. Next week we will get into how exactly the mind has to do with magic," he said this as the bell started to ring. The rest of class, a measly thirteen, started to shove there notebook filled with notes on the "Intro to the Human Psyche" into their binders, bags, or backpacks. "Remember to study for the test this Friday." He called out as students scrambled to leave their crazy teacher's classroom.

Alma was already placing his black satchel across his shoulder when Mr. Adams called out to him, "Alma stay behind would you."

It used bother, annoy? Alma the way he'd pronounce his name, always drawing out his name too much like he was putting to emphasis in it. It was "al-mah" not "ALL-muh". Now he just doesn't care, Alma doesn't care about a lot things, which tended to annoy Danny but then again he didn't care. "I understand that you are leaving for that Quidditch World Cup in Europe and haven't seen a word or hide of Danny. Are you worried?" He arched a brow.

Mr. Adams had sun bleached blond hair and was of average height and weight, his skin was a healthy tan, unlike some girls in the school that are so tanned they are orange, but they are the southern Cali Laguna Beach type of girls. He was also the Supervisor of the Medical Department and the Second in Command of the whole school. He taught AP Psychology, Biology, and AP Anatomy. Mr. Adams came from Livingston, Louisiana were the girls actually had values over their state of dress. Alma has only been there once and in his opinion it was like going back in time to the late 1920's.

Mr. Adams looked at him reproachfully in attempt to figure out his attachment to Danny. They always wondered what kind of relationship he had with Danny, never really figuring out what was up between them. Alma wasn't going to enlighten them either since he didn't know either. He knew if didn't answer then they would assume something and if he did answer then it would show that he cared about her but he didn't. To him she was just there, it was _she_ who had an attachment to himself. He could care less if she died or not. Alice has told time and again to tell Danny of his real opinion of her, Alma could not for the life of him tell her. He remembered when Danny had gotten seriously injured on her last assignment last year he had not felt anything, he did not worry when she was having air pumped into her lungs. He did not worry when her heart stopped beating for ten minutes before the healer managed to bring her back. He did not panic at the blood and when she opened her eyes he could care less if she had never opened them at all. That's when her sudden bouts of anger or emotional distress started, Alice just advised him to stay with her. He doesn't listen, usually.

"If she's dead I would have been informed and assigned a permanent replacement partner. The ten year old is temporary."

"The ten year old is Elijah, remember that. Here are the notes for the days you will be missing and work from all your teachers. Copy them and do the work, Danny's copies are labeled. The Dean wants you in the Medical Department, Room AD254. You will not be going to Defense or any other class for that matter. You leave today; your things have already been packed."

* * *

><p>Somewhere in England in a small town called Todmorden, West Yorkshire a neurotic skinny woman got the scare of a lifetime. She fainted, landing with a loud thud. Her son could only look like he had seen a ghost…well two ghosts actually. They were told that they were dead; both "ghosts" did not look very pleased.<p>

"Where's Harry Petunia," a female "ghost" practically growled.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Bradbury is something I made up, don't know if it actually exists. What I said about Livingston, Louisiana I got from an opinion from a friend, correct me if I'm wrong or not. Todmorden West Yorkshire is a small town in England with some creepy stories of witchcraft and what not. The perfect place where Vernon would never look. I did some research on it...again correct me if I'm wrong.

**Review, constructive criticism is accepted and appreciated. Flamer however will be ignored or put on blast.**


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter but I do own the books I bought with my hard earned money...so there hah!

Edited: 16 November 2011 - Nothing changed, except the beginning. :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3: Ethics Are So Overrated<strong>

Date: August 13, 1996

Time: 1300

Subject: Daniela "Danny" FightingBear

Nickname: the Prophet

Abilities: Subject is able to see what has past, what is happening, what is to become, and what could been.

Talents: None

Recording…

Danny: *incoherent muttering*

The sound of something crashing was followed by loud screaming. Another crash.

Head Nurse: Fuck, dammit! Grab her legs and arms and restrain them! ...You, get a damn sedative.

Danny: *whispers* where's Ha…*more incoherent mutterings*

A door opens in the background.

The Dean: How long has she been like this?

Head Nurse: For about…ten minutes, sir.

The Dean: Keep her sedated until it passes, we wouldn't want her ruining our little project now, would we?

End Recording

* * *

><p>Regret, that's what she felt every single morning. Every time she looked at her son the same thought echoed in the back of her head, <em>I <em>_don__'__t __deserve __him._ Every time she stared into the dark eyes of her friend, lover, and now fiancé she could only think of how much she didn't deserve this happiness bestowed upon her. Today was no different. When alone in the kitchen, as she looks at her own reflection from the dirtied soapy water all she sees is her old face. The bitter ugly woman with scared eyes, forced smiles with the taste of bulimia and sometimes if she looked closely enough she could see young loving hopeful green eyes staring up at her.

Petunia was right to leave the boy behind; Vernon had found her not even a day later. She stayed with that monster for two full years before she found the courage to call the law enforcement and it wasn't even her who called in the end. It was Dudley. After her attempted escape, Vernon became paranoid. He had felt that she had turned his own son against him; the betrayal he had felt was too great. He didn't hit her; no she was instead taught a lesson which left fearing the touch of another man. Even now when her fiancé touches her from behind she can feel her muscles tense thinking she's back in Surrey in that perfect façade. He's understanding though, he understands what she went through. He doesn't force her.

"Drat!" Petunia pressed her finger to her lips sucking on the bleeding wound were she had put a little too much pressure on a knife she had been wiping. She quickly turned on the faucet and watched with vacant eyes as the blood and water went down the drain.

Blood…

Vernon never hit her, since he had no freak to pent-out his frustration Dudley had become the replacement. There had been so much blood that day. She had been hiding like the coward she was looking at the phone with indecision. Dudley was crying out for her in his room. _"__Mum!__" _He was so scared to sleep at night, Dudley cried for her help and she never did she covered her ears in hopes that it would go away, that the nightmare would end. She was always in the kitchen, that day was no different. She had been looking at her reflection of the dirtied water, that's when she first saw the reflection of her nephew looking at her with those eyes. She didn't know what happened to her, a surge of angry red filled her eyes as she heard the sound of her husbands' drunken rants. She found herself gripping a clean but wet stainless steel pan and running upstairs to her son's aid. She only let go of the pan when she saw the state of her son. Her beaten and bloodied nine almost ten year old son looked at her smiling and reaching for her even in the state he was in. The picture reminded her of _him_. His green eyes, his broken smile hoping for the love she only provided for Dudley.

Why hadn't she ever lifted a hand for the boy but when it came to Dudley she went running to his aid risking her own skin? The boy had been younger then Dudley when he was being beaten, so why? She doesn't know that answer. For a fleeting second, Dudley really was the boy smiling up at her. Petunia was ready to back down like she had done so many times before.

NO she wouldn't repeat her mistakes! With a mighty yell of, "Get the bloody hell away from him!" she hit him with all her might slammed the pan against his back. He stumbled forward, had he been a leaner man the hit probably would have hurt him. She had felt her nose crack at the force of the backhand that he had given her. He must have yanked the pan from her because the next she felt was the bones of her face shattering under the cold wet steel that was the frying pan. She felt the pan hit her with two good measures before she heard the pan clatter on the floor. The numbness was soon seeping into her bones; she had felt death slowly embracing her. She hadn't even been able to feel kicks being handed to her but she did hear three things before she lost consciousness. One her son crying saying that he had called for help and not to worry. Two, Vernon saying horror, "What have I done?" Three, the sound of a door being broken down.

Apparently, they hadn't been as quiet as Vernon had thought they were. That or they finally had enough and called for assistance.

The damage that had been done to her face had been too much. Plastic surgeons had been called; Vernon once sober had felt such deep regret at what he had done. He told her repeatedly that he loved her, even as they stood in trial. The court had ordered him to pay hospital bills and other such necessities. He adamantly refused, saying even if he loved her she could pay for the expenses herself. In the end he paid and was sentence to prison for some time, how long she doesn't really care so as long as he never went near her or Dudley again.

When all the bandages had been removed she had refused to look at herself in the mirror. For three long years she couldn't bare looking at her own face. She avoided it like the plague; her therapists had told her she had some kind of phobia. She knew it wasn't a phobia because throat never constricted when she caught the reflection of eyes from the review mirror of the car. Denial was what her therapists had said was one step closer to recovery. She didn't have a phobia.

She had changed her name as soon as she could along with Dudley's. She was now Irene Eliot, her son was Robert Jonathan Eliot. She changed a lot after that, the paranoia never left her though leaving people to think she was one very neurotic woman. A beautiful neurotic woman, that's what _he_ says. _He_ thinks that's she the most beautiful woman he ever came across and he loved her. He loves her neurotic ways and jumpy moments. Petunia—no, Irene never believed him. She still doesn't, even after her curiosity got the best of her, and through some liquid encouragement had looked at herself. Only one time during the night after their first date did she look at herself in the mirror…and came up with a conclusion.

She wasn't the same woman. Her horse-like face was gone. She had a faded jagged scar from her chin to her cheek bone on the left side of her face. Her eyes were sunken slightly from her constant paranoia and sleepless nights. Her skin was still pale but not in the unhealthy kind of way. She had another scar that ran across her lip making it look like she was always grimacing. It made her all the more sure that she was Irene now and not Petunia.

Irene was nervous the bartender at the weekends and the quiet, unsteady-handed but harpy like assistant head librarian. Irene was beautiful because her fiancé always tells her this. Irene really did have some kind of fear looking at herself in the mirror because every time she looks in the mirror she doesn't that supposed beautiful woman. All she sees is Petunia, Irene can't fool herself she knows she's Petunia. She told him that she once went by a different name; he asked one time she never answered and he didn't press on.

Irene practically felt her heart lurch to her throat when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She spun around pressing her back against the sink, the water still running behind her. She felt her heart beat slow down when she saw it was just him. Robert was just entering kitchen when he saw them together and quickly turned around not wanting to find out what was going on. He was leaning in for a kiss…she blushed, her little Robby saw, albeit he isn't so little anymore being a sixteen year old now—still he saw. She could feel her heart banging against her chest like…wait, that wasn't her heart.

"Sorry, that's probably Sam," Sam was the only friend, best friend too, out of her son's group of friends that doesn't know the definition of knocking politely. It usually was followed by a "Hey! Missus E your dumbass son won't open the door!" and the only American friend, he was adopted and quite literally picked up off the streets by his adoptive parents.

"That boy needs to learn some manners," she heard him mutter darkly behind her. She heard the rush of footsteps and a loud, "Sorry mom I've told Sam to stop…"

Irene gasped when the door opened by itself but what really shocked her was seeing her supposed dead sister looking at her with so much anger mixed with pity(?). She could feel a fainting spell creeping up from the back of her head.

* * *

><p>Lily remembered waking up; she remembered looking into the dark eyes of Severus Snape who was looking at hers. He looked so relieved. She been in a dead-like trance for thirteen years, she wasn't told that information until two days later. He was still looking at her with those eyes of a man in love; she felt a tug in her heart. She didn't love him like he wanted her to. "…Potter is waiting for you." She never quite caught what he said at her.<p>

The moment she and James were fully recuperated they had found out about Sirius being in Azkaban meaning Harry wasn't where they thought he was. Of course they fixed Sirius' situation but where was Harry? Dumbledore could only smile mournfully at them explaining that Harry's acceptance letters where always returned unopened and when they went over to check on Harry they arrived to a vacant house. Vernon Dursley had been sent to prison for some violent domestic dispute, at least that what Arabella Figg had heard since she, herself, hadn't been there during the incident. Petunia Dursley hadn't been heard of since then.

All she wanted was her son back.

After two years of searching and sniffing around (Sirius) they found her and here she was looking at her sister, except this wasn't her sister. This woman didn't have the same face that Petunia had had. Petunia was horse-faced confident and bitter. This woman wasn't her but she was, she could feel it. This was her sister just with a different face. She had been told by Sirius that Harry without doubt wasn't living there, his scent just wasn't there. Where was her Harry?

Lily had been angry before she had even forced the door open with a wave of her wand. She felt a tinge of sadness meeting up with her sister after so long in these circumstances, but still her anger couldn't be appeased. "Where's Harry Petunia," Lily growled.

"I…" With thud she landed on the floor.

"Mum!" Lily around hopefully, knowing full well that he wasn't even in the house. It was Dudley not Harry. Lily watched as she saw Dudley rush over to Petunia and try to pick her up, "Hey! Don't just stand there you old fart help me," he snapped to the other side of the room.

Whoever it was snapped out of there daze and obviously did not like there disrespect. "Watch that tongue of yours Eliot," he snapped.

_That __voice, __it __couldn__'__t __be__…_Lily looked in astonishment as the last person she'd thought she'd see here walk over and help pick her sister off the floor.

"Whatever old man, help me pick her off the floor."

"Snivellus what are you doing here?"

Severus sent a sharp glare at James before helping to move Petunia to the couch. After placing her on the couch Severus dragged a chair placing it near her and sat down. "Sit down."

"I don't understand."

"Well, I'd really like to stay and chat but I have to get…"

"Not so fast Elliot," Eliot (Dudley) turned around crossing his arms impatiently eyes full of defiance. "There are some explanations and clarifications in need."

"You're looking at the wrong person old man," he said looking at them, "it's not my job to be saying things that my mum doesn't want to say, you should respect that. My mum went through a lot of shit, she doesn't need anymore shit to make her even crazier then she already is."

"That's not what I'm asking Elliot, what I am asking is why she doesn't look like—"

"Oh if that's what you're asking then you already know that answer. Remember, the stainless steel pan. Yeah metal like that tends to break and shatter some bones after being hit repeatedly with it," Lily gasped covering her mouth. That's wouldn't happen to her sister, her husband loved her, "I wouldn't have even recognized her if it wasn't for her voice. Tell mum I won't be back until tomorrow, spending over the night at Sam's." The door slammed behind him a cup lost its balance shattering on the cold tile floor which jolted Petunia from her faint spell.

Lily sat there looking at her older sister. What's happened these past years? What did she go by now? Who was she? Where was Harry? Why does she look so tense and exhausted?

She watched as Petunia unsteadily sat up and looked at her with haunted eyes, "What do you go by now?" Lily blurted her anger long since simmered down some.

"Irene Eliot."

"Like T.S. Eliot, Eliot?"

"Yes."

She nodded and started to look around not really paying attention to details. There weren't patterned things in anywhere just solid colors. The window curtains where a light beige. The carpet was the same color; the rug under the red wood coffee table was a dark red. The couches they were sitting on were a green black sort of color. The walls were a light grey. There were no pictures, not even paintings.

"Look, I know it's not my business but—"

"Later Lily," Irene sighed rubbing her face with both her hands, they were shaking slightly.

"Right…I know…you thought I was dead…I just want…"

"It's okay," Irene gave a shaking sigh, "I need to start cleaning," Irene got up already going to the kitchen.

"Irene," Lily's could only stare at the two. Severus was grabbing hold of her sister's hand stopping her from cleaning the imaginary dirt and said in a commanding yet sincere voice "The kitchen is clean, everything is clean, sit down and don't obsess over things that aren't there."

"Everything is clean," she heard Irene mutter over to herself twice before sitting back down.

"I still want to know where my son is at," James spoke up.

Irene jumped up looking at Lily and James, "I don't know but I have something you would want."

"What do you mean you don't know," James seethed.

Irene started fidgeting her fingers looking at her socked feet. "The child," Severus started looking at her stiff fidgeting form. Lily felt like she was missing something, "that was Potter's brat."

Irene nodded blonde hair moving down her face acting as a shield, she sniffed before rushing up the stairs. They could hear the opening and closing drawers, they looked at each other no one wanting to fill in the silence. Although Lily was looking curiously at Severus, James was glaring a Severus while Severus was looking at the stairs. The rushing of footsteps could be heard, all eyes were at the stairs now.

Panting Irene approached Lily holding something against her chest, "I kept it hidden in a safe place. I wanted to keep it…to remember, so I wouldn't forget. I knew I wasn't going to ever see him again," her knuckles of hands began to turn white. Whatever she was holding onto must have meant something to her. Lily didn't want to force her to let go of it. "I took care of him but I never treated like my own, if anything he was a stranger. I should have treated him better." Petunia—not Irene—she could see it now. She will never be anyone other then Petunia to Lily or maybe Irene is the real Petunia now, who knows. "He's a stranger that will always be embedded in my memories and my dreams. Although he was a child, had you known him you would probably feel the same way. Strange how much one can affect you so…here."

Lily gently took what Petunia was holding there was some resistance but she let go. Lily felt her eyes start to sting; it was a little clay hand print. On the bottom blocky crooked letters spelling mum were written. "He knew I wasn't his mum. I asked why he wrote that there, he said "Can you bury it in mum's grave so she can see it?" I didn't have the heart to tell him that I didn't know where you were buried. So I kept it."

"James look," Lily said as she handed over Harry's only art work, not that she knew that. James did not so as much as glance at the pottery. Instead he continued to stare down at Petunia.

"What did you do to Harry," he demanded.

"James P—my sister didn't do anything to Harry," Lily stood looking angrily at James for accusing her older sister of doing to something horrible to her son. She was his aunt for crying out loud, why would she ever hurt a child!

"That's exactly what I did Lily…nothing." She sat back down next Severus heaving a sigh like it was the hardest thing she could ever do. "He has every right to look at me like that. I stood in the side lines not wanting to get hurt myself and watched as a defenseless child was hurt repeatedly. So long as Dudley and I were okay that everything would be fine right?"

Lily noticed from her peripheral vision the muscle of James jaw jump. He was staring at her, not Petunia, angrily. "Don't you remember Lily what you told me of your sister? Remember how you told me you wouldn't trust her with your own son because she thought we're all freaks! That you were a freak!"

She could see Severus was already pulling out his wand his dark eyes looking pointedly at James. Her heart skipped a beat; Petunia would never hurt a child, that she knew for sure. Petunia hated child abuse. Then the word slowly started to click together…

_I __took __care __of __him __but __I __never __treated __like __my __own__…_ _I __should __have __treated __him __better._

_He's a stranger that will always be embedded in my memories and my dreams. Although he was a child, had you known him you would probably feel the same way. Strange how much one can affect you so…_

_I stood in the side lines not wanting to get hurt myself and watched as a defenseless child was hurt repeatedly. So long as Dudley and I were okay that everything would be fine right?_

_The __child__…__that __was __Potter__'__s __brat._

_I __wanted __to __keep __it__…__to __remember, __so __I __wouldn__'__t __forget. __I __knew __I __wasn__'__t __going __to __ever __see __him __again._

"Petunia, oh god, Petunia did you, did you kill my son?" She asked tears sliding down her cheeks.

"NO," Petunia stood up quickly furiously shaking her head her facing paling dramatically. "I would never hurt a child you know this Lily. You know me!"

"Then where is he?" She asked grabbing her arms shaking her roughly, "please just tell where my son is!"

"I don't know where he is?"

"What do mean you don't know," she shook her again. "You have to know where he is. You have to let me assume the worst if you don't where he is! Just tell me!" She shouted shaking her roughly.

"I don't know. I left him alone in the middle road and never looked back," she sobbed her blue eyes wide having an almost panicky edge to it. Her body started to shiver. "I swear I don't know!"

"Left him, how old?" She said a little more calmly but her grip on Petunia's shoulders didn't loosen one bit.

Pet—no Irene, this was Irene, the neurotic panicky woman shook head side to side.

"How old?" She shouted.

"That's enough Lily," Severus said this as he pulled Irene away from Lily's death like grip, he pushed her down to the couch. She was shaking, her hands were trembling and was starting gasp. "He was seven, it was good she abandoned when she did too." He bit out as he handed Irene a calming draught laced tea.

"Only _you_ would say that Snivellus," James spat.

"Had the boy stayed any longer he would have died," Severus sneered as helped Irene drink the tea. She was shaking so much that tea would have been gone before she could even take a sip

"Why do you say that?" Lily said glancing at Irene who looked too pale to be called healthy.

"Her husband was much like my father Lily," he muttered in away that only Lily would hear.

_Remember, __the __stainless __steel __pan. __Yeah __metal __like __that __tends __to __break __and __shatter __some __bones __after __being __hit __repeatedly __with __it__…_

Lily moved to comfort her older sister but stopped when she felt a crunch. She looked down and her guilt felt even greater. There on the floor was Harry hand mold. The chunk where it spelt mum was split down the middle. One half, the one she stepped on, was crumbled. Petunia had kept it safe for so long and it meant more to Petunia then it did Lily even though it was meant for Lily in the first place.

Lily bent down to pick up the peaces.

_Where __are __you __Harry?_

* * *

><p>A week had passed since the reunion between Alma and Danny, no one was happy. Dean Walker was pissed because he could be using this precious time working instead of wasting time being a diplomat and watching the Quidditch World Cup. Alice was upset because her master was upset and making her life miserable was his constant snaps and weird orders. Alma was angry, upset, indifferent (?) who knows what is running in that head of his, the most likely feeling would be angry—at least that's what Danny thinks. Danny was depressed, she felt like maybe she shouldn't have agreed with experiment because obviously Alma was pissed at her and didn't want to talk to her.<p>

When Alma is upset he tends to say mean things. When he's angry he doesn't speak period. When he's depressed he eats a bit more then usual. When he's content he talks more and sometimes—sometimes starts the conversation. That's how she knew that Alma was not in agreement with her decision. Right now they were by themselves in the tent; they would be leaving the moment the game was over. In about half an hour they would be meeting with the Dean in the Top Box.

"Alma…"

Alma stood on his feet dusting imaginary dirt off his pants, "We should be heading up now."

"Alma," Danny stopped be grabbing his arms, "Please don't be mad…I won't force you to be anything."

"That is not your decision Danny," he said turning to look at her from the corner of his green eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"You cannot control your female urges to procreate."

"You make me sound like a dog in heat," Danny muttered looking down on the floor. In just a month or so she won't be able to see her feet. By now she should start showing but was a little chunky (a fatass in Alma's insensitive opinion).

"By your actions you are a bi—"

Danny face flushed in anger, her hands stinging from the force she had slapped him with. Alma gave no indication of it ever hurting. "Shut your fucking mouth Alma. It's yours too!"

Alma's eyes widen faintly, for the first time showing emotion which it wasn't necessarily a good thing considering the circumstances. Alma's left cheek starting to redden into the shape of her hand, "How?"

"They used your blood and some samples they had acquired," she said with a little blush.

"How far…"

"About—"

"Did I come in a bad moment," Alice interrupted.

"No." Alma said flatly.

Alice arched a brow at injury on Alma's face; it would become a bruise latter on. "Well then Master Walker is already at Top Box waiting for you two. Follow me." She stated.

Danny looked at scandalously short (in her opinion) French maid outfit Alice had on. The dress went above the knees by half an inch. Where did Alice hide her wand in that thing? Alice gave Danny a small wink, her golden eyes shining in amusement knowing full well that her outfit annoyed Danny.

The three of them weaved through the crowds; Danny gave Alma a confused look when she noticed the strange looks Alma was receiving. She looked at Alice; she was sporting a frown, her plump lips pressed.

Danny strained her ears thinking she was missing something. "…looks like…who lived…Potter…lost son." Danny raised her eyebrows. They walked faster; there was a flash of light just as they disappeared up the stairs. Alice's eyes blazed in anger when they finally met up with the Dean. He only arched a white brow at Alice's expression.

"Minister Fudge," Dean Walker began, "here are two of my students. Daniela FightingBear," Danny extended hand, smiling inwardly when she saw the Minister of Magic had a nervous smile. "And Alma Winters." Danny inner smile widen when she saw the Minister not so secretly flex his hand however that quickly turned to confusion.

The Minister of Magic took one look at Alma's forehead before he began sputtering, "What is it, Minister?" The Dean asked curiously.

"It the boy-who-lived!"

"Well there's plenty of boys who live, look there's one now," he waved his hand to a blond with slicked back hair as he entered the box behind them. A group of red heads was looking at them—well Alma in wonder. She noticed one red headed in particular, she had vivid green eyes like Alma, next to her was a man with dark hair and dorky round glasses like Alma were staring at him in shock. _Huh?_

"Oh, Danny, Alma this is the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, didn't quite catch his na—"

"Harry!"

Three things happened at that moment:

1. The commencement of the Quidditch World Cup began.

2. Danny was accidentally shoved to side by a rude and aggressive reporter causing her to almost fall in which Alma had another bout of doing something considerate and caught before she could hurt herself and righted her stance.

3. The red headed woman would have shoved her aside had she not moved out of the way just in time and gave Alma a hug. Alma could only stare at the Dean who was sporting a mischievous smirk. His red eyes showing nothing but sick amusement, the woman was blubbering. The man with dorky round glasses was approaching them with strangest look in his hazel eyes.

_Again, __huh?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN:**Betcha ya didn't see that weird pairing did ya, did ya! How do like them apples! Now that's Alternate Universe gone freaky! Kidding, Kidding...I wanted to toy around with that pairing for awhile... **._.** I like strange pairings. Don't get weird on me, I won't focus that much on it. By the way it's still Harry/Undecided, I think I've decided do you wanna know...nah I letcha figured out on your own. What Danny has going on is called unrequitted love...poor dear.

Added Author's Note: Ignore what I said about the weird pairing even though I do like the idea of it :P

**Review, constructive criticism is appreciated. Flamers however aren't, I don't need trolls here *insert angry face***


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter.

**A/N:** Okay, I suggest you go back and re-read the part of chapter three if you haven't already. Edited everything so yeah... :P

This chapter is unedited (is unedited even a word?)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: What Really Happened<strong>

After she had abandoned the boy everything had gotten from bad to worst, she spent four years with that monster her husband had become. Dudley was never hurt but he had always been forced to watch whatever had happened in the household. He saw things between adult that a young impressionable young man ought not to. Dudley didn't understand at the time that beating mummy was a bad thing; he didn't know that hearing his father call his mother degrading things was bad. It was the environment that he grew up in ever since he could speak. His father did it to his cousin and now to his mother, what was the difference?

Petunia still can't wrap her mind around how exactly she had got away. She just did. Her friend, Yvonne, was the one to help her get away. She made the arrangements and helped pay the necessities she would need for things turn out for the better. Petunia still felt that she indebted to her, but Yvonne always said the same thing. "You needed help, Pet. There no need to pay me back." Thanks to Yvonne Vernon will never find them, they had a whole new: name, past, hair, and (in a way) face.

Meet Irene and Robby Eliot.

Irene is a neurotic woman who works at the library as the head librarian's assistant and works at a book store during the weekends. She doesn't like to be touched, and has a habit of drinking wine to calm her nightmares of a little boy in her past. Irene is a very short haired, too skinny, dirty blonde with (natural) grey streaks. She has a very particular scar near her mouth makes her seem like she had a permanent grimace.

Robert Jonathan Eliot is referred by his mother as Robby. He is an angry troubled youth and sometimes gets into too many fights which upsets' his mother. He hates to see his mother upset, he doesn't appreciate his mother drinking either. He works as a cashier during the weekends, sometimes Mondays and Wednesdays. Robert is a heavy weight wrestler at school; he likes wearing different eye color contacts every week and is constantly shaving his head (as he thinks its makes him look "sexy"). Most people just think he is being rebellious as he is a very angry child.

Today was her day off so she decided spend it doing what she does best, cleaning. Everything must be clean. Everything must be moved into a new position as the old one looks makes it look dirty. The garden needs work too; perhaps she should do that first. It was a Saturday morning, she detests Saturdays as much as she hates looking at herself in the mirror. It remind her too much of…cleaning. She should be cleaning right now, she loves cleaning like she loves cooking and baking. She has a lot of baking pan to clean from last night. She had forgotten to clean them yesterday; Robby had insisted she forget about them. The cleaning could wait. She can't wait any longer.

Her heart thudded in excitement at the thought of cleaning, wait—that's not right.

"I got it!" She heard her son call out followed by the thudding footsteps of him running down the stairs. It probably that rude friend of his again, she sniffed. The sound of her front door being slammed closed had her dropping the plate to the floor. It shattered into tiny little fragments and shard before her feet. She froze staring at mess on the floor, what did she do now? Pick it up, yes she's supposed to pick up the pieces. Pick up the pieces quickly or Vernon will get upset. She can't have that now, can she? Where's the pan and broom. She turned around just as the ghost of Lily came into her kitchen, green eyes blazing ready to exact revenge for letting Vernon hurt the boy. A little behind her is a rather spooked Dudley.

"Where's Harry, Petunia?" Lily growled.

She fainted.

* * *

><p>"We'll find him, Lily," James assured her just as Lily began knocking on the door nonstop with an impatient look on her face. He was always repeating himself when it came to Harry; he was starting to sound like broken muggle replay-thingy. It took Snape thirteen years to perfect that potion that had brought them back from whatever trance they had been. He could have done it sooner rather then wait around being a greasy git.<p>

After two years of Sirius sniffing around they had finally tracked down his sister-in-law, a simple point-me spell wouldn't have worked either seeing as it would be too complicated since it would show exactly where she was it and muggles like wizard never stayed still. Lily knew her sister would just burn any letters sent by owl and she couldn't send it the muggle way seeing as she doesn't live in Privet Drive no. 4 anymore. According to the fat lard living there, Petunia had run away from husband some years ago and hasn't been heard from since. A stocky built boy opened the door with an annoyed scowl, he had a shaved had with golden irises. He quickly went pale when he saw Lily; his wife didn't even bother saying any pleasantries. She just stepped in and slammed the door behind her, he just stepped opened the door and followed her. This was it; they would finally know where Harry was. No more restless nights.

James watched with some satisfaction as Petunia (was it?) looked at Lily in fear and resignation.

* * *

><p>Lily watched as her elder sister fainted and dropped like a rag doll on the floor. Lily felt a pang in her heart at seeing her sister react to her in such a way, she knew she wasn't dead. It wasn't like she coming from dead, unless had resigned herself to think that she was brain dead. It would be like Petunia to give up rather then hope for the best.<p>

She was angry; she wanted to know where her son was. But being angry wasn't going to solve anything, Lily rationalized. She needed to be calm and collected. Making her sister faint in fear wasn't calm and collected.

She moved to help her sister up when the boy from before shouted at her, it looked like he wanted to hit her.

"Get away from my mum!" Lily backed up a step while James took a step forward. This boy was her nephew, Dudley.

"Don't talk to my wife that way," he ordered.

The boy ignored him taking a defiant stance in front of the passed out Petunia, "Get the fuck out of our house or I'll make you leave." His muscle flexed in emphasis to prove he had the strength to do so.

"Wait," Lily called out in attempt to get Dudley's attention. "I'm your Aunt Lily, your mother's sister. I—we just want to know where your cousin is. My son, Harry, so do you know where he is?"

Lily felt her heart drop like lead when all she received was a confused look from Dudley; dread filled her at the question directed to no one in particular. "I have cousin?"

"Of course you do," she insisted, hoping against all the odds that her sister didn't do what she suspected she did, but if her suspicions were true then they wouldn't have made any sense still because Harry would have still received his Hogwarts letter. "Harry was given to your mother to care for when you both were one because we weren't able to do so."

"Harry," he echoed. His brows furrowed in deep thought, inside Lily panicked but outside she resumed a patient look. "I don't know any Harry's, sorry."

A moan came from the floor, Lily watched as her sister lifted herself up and shake her head slightly from the brief spell she went through. Pale faced, Petunia sent her grimace pinched look making Lily feel like she was the foulest thing to ever step foot in her sisters' house. Petunia stood stiffly, arms crossed tightly across her chest, "I was told you were dead. Gone and got yourself blown up."

"Well, were not dead," James bit out, "so sorry to disappoint. Now, where's Harry?"

Petunia stiffened all eyes where on her. Dudley's questioning gaze, Lily and James' anger filled pleading eyes. "I…"

"Mum?" Dudley had turned completely to get his mother full attention. Her nephew looked like he had just gotten an epiphany, an appalling epiphany judging by his expression. "Was Harry," Petunia flinched, her grimace becoming more pronounced, "that boy?"

Petunia didn't answer but she did look down on at the floor. Her crossed arms tightened, a shameful expression took hold of her face even as her face pinched further. Dudley took a step back in shock. _What__'__s __going __on, __what __happened __to __Harry!_ A quick glance at James only revealed an angry visage. "You would…you told me he wasn't real, just a figment of my fucking imagination! I can't believe you, how can you…"

Silence was her only response to her son, this only proved to further anger Dudley. In a fit of rage he walked out the front door with a slam causing Petunia to jump.

"…"

"What was that? I didn't quite catch that," James leaned in further, his face red from suppressed fury.

"I said: I don't know where he is."

"What do you mean you: _don__'__t __know_. He's your nephew, you're supposed to know. You're the one who's supposed to be caring for him!" Lily practically shouted, how could she not know? Lily had assumed that her sister had just decided not to send Harry to Hogwarts and instead sent to some muggle school to keep him "normal" in a "normal" boarding school. She should have known better, Sirius after all, hadn't caught Harry's sent anywhere near the house.

"What did you expect from me, Lily? Were you expecting for me to love automatically with open arms, how very naïve of you." She sneered. "Did you think that after the rift made between us that I'd love that…that…freak of nature!"

Never had Lily ever felt a strong urge hit her sister until this day, but she reigned in on her temper. She needed to know, her lips were drawn in tight.

"Don't talk about my son that way, you bitch!" James roared his wand drawn out pointed at her sisters' chest.

Petunia laughed bitterly, "I took him in, but not because you. What would the neighbors think when they saw baby on our doorstep," she cynically said with a high pitched tone. "I raised him for seven long agonizing years. Fed him, clothed him and gave him a roof over his head to keep him warm at night because that's all I was allowed to do. A cold hallowed out life, he had." Petunia began to pace, the shards on the floor crouched under her feet as she paced. She looked like a trapped wild animal to Lily. "I barely raised finger, living a life much like that greasy little rat you called a friend he did. And he always looked at me the same way with those damnable green eyes. Enough to drive me mad! I couldn't do it anymore, I couldn't stand idle anymore Lily," tears streamed down her pale cheeks. "I just couldn't, so I packed up his and Dudley's things. I drove far away only to back out in the last second. I knew he'd die if I took with me back home, so I left him there and never looked back. So, like I said: I don't know where he is." She said with gritted teeth.

"You abandoned him," said an incredulous James, his hand clenching his wand so tightly it shook in rage.

"I no longer have to explain myself to _you_," Petunia said stiffly, her grimace never leaving her facial features. It bothered and irritated Lily that that was the only expression she had for her only younger sister. Lily found that her patience had finally run out. Her palm went flying smacking her elder sister right across that ugly scowl on her horse like face. Her hand burned from the force and strength she had used, her red hair momentarily blocking her view before she brushed it off her face. Petunia had her face to the side pointed to the floor; her cheek just barely starting to redden. She looked shocked and scared.

Good, she should be. Lily hadn't felt any satisfaction in hitting her sister but it did calm her down enough to be able to speak, "James where leaving, she obviously doesn't know where he is." She spun on her heel preparing to apparate.

"Wait," Petunia called out but Lily couldn't even bare to look at her any longer she only waited to hear what she had to say. "Before you go, try looking for in Bradbury I left him near there."

Lily nodded in thanks before leaving with James.

* * *

><p>Alma wasn't upset nor was he angry, he couldn't decipher exactly what he was feeling but he understood since the concept wasn't too hard to comprehend. Danny was pregnant, that wasn't too hard to understand, she had needs and this was a byproduct of her needs. What he couldn't exactly comprehend was the fact that it was <em>his<em>. How could that be, he had never been able to hold the amount of emotions needed to actually even do the deed. He was what Alice liked to call asexual and he couldn't as Warden would put it "get it to stand up" either. He wasn't interested in those types of things and couldn't wrap it around his mind either. It had too many complicated emotions such as: lust, passion, and love. None of those words was part of his vocabulary most especially _love_, having never experienced such a thing he has no way of understanding the word.

However, that was not important; it was an insignificant little pest in his life that that won't become very bothersome until after the parasite was born. What was important was what the Prophet had told them. It is a very dangerous and confusing ability. She sees things it as though she is experiencing it herself. Therefore actually experience whatever pains or agonies she _seeing_. Warden had told him it looked like she was having a very violent seizure. It was confusing because one had to decipher was false to wheedle out the facts.

Daniela was looking at him worriedly while fidgeting under his blank stare as she sat up from the from the hospital bed. The scleras of her eyes were red from the vessels she popped during her intense vision; her face looked abnormally pale with bags under her eyes. Daniela looked exhausted as she finished retelling them of the vision she had. She had of course already told the Dean and had been examined by Mr. Adams to see if the parasite was still living or had died during her thrashing and spasms.

"So…um, are we still going to the Quidditch World Cup?" Danny finally asked after a moment of silence.

Alma's eyes wandered over to the Dean, he had an unlit cigarette between his lips as he calculated the situation. "Yes, but _you_ and I will have to postpone our visit to jolly Ol' England until three days before the event, which suits my plans just fine. In other words, congratulations Alma—oops do you prefer Harry now?"

"Wait," Danny looked alarmed unintentionally interrupting Alma before he even opened his mouth. He knew annoyance and the word was a very big word in his vocabulary since it is one of his main emotions. He was always getting annoyed. Getting interrupted the way he had sparked a small amount of annoyance at Danny, he gave her a stinging glare that lasted only half a second and that fortunately she didn't see, "just me and you what about Alma?"

"Alma has job to do for me that day, Warden will accompany us, and don't interrupt. You were going to say, Alma?"

"Harry Potter died with Voldemort that autumn day." Alma stated calmly, Dean Walker merely arched a white brow before giving a patronizing look.

"I don't really care Alma, nevertheless you are still my student and I am sure the school you were originally supposed to go to will want you back in their educational system. However, I will not allow that, I wouldn't want to lose one of my best students to whatever shitty-ass school you were supposed to go and besides we have a deal."

"But if he doesn't go to the QWC then no one will ever know of his living in America," Danny said this as she readjusted herself on the bed.

"That is because they are still going to be meeting Alma, however in a different situation this time around. Enough questions for now, I will be taking my leave for now."

Alma's eyes followed the pale man until the door closed. He pushed his glasses back to the bridge of his nose, stood up and stared Danny down. Danny played with her fingers, twisting them this way and that. He was so complicated, she never what she did wrong with him but she shouldn't be talking. She confused him too with her constant anger issues. Alma just didn't understand the opposite sex; they were just otherworldly to him. At least that's just how she sees it. She just an unsolvable rubix cube to him, _but __I __think __he__'__s __finally __solved __it. __I__'__m __not __interesting __anymore, __I __just __his __assigned __part ner __now. __He __doesn__'__t __care, __he __never __did._

"Alma," she licked her suddenly dry lips before continuing, "I can't believe I didn't realize that you were famous boy everyone was constantly raging about. I mean, I knew you had scar on forehead but that rat nest you call hair usually covers most of it. So I guess that makes up for me not noticing huh? I could have, you know, helped you find your family and stuff."

"I don't need help, Daniela."

"They needed more people like me Alma," she pleaded hoping he would understand. "Do you have any idea how special this ability is? Mr. Adams said that your blood is more likely to influence whatever I have to be enhanced, that way there will be more people like me."

"I don't need you explanations either."

Danny bit her lip anger her hands balled into fists, "Then why the hell are you still here!"

She watched as those unfathomable eyes moved from her face, neck, breasts and stopped at her lower abdomen by then she was flushing a deep red. He continued to stare at that one spot for what seemed like an eternity before finally breaking the silence, "May I touch it?" He asked already raising his right hand.

"Wha—" Alma did wait for her to even finish what she was going be saying. His hand was pressed none too gently were the baby was. "Ow! Dammit Alma, be careful."

"It hard," he murmured.

"Yes, I suppose it is. Considering a life is growing in there." She agreed. Maybe things will turn out for the better.

Alma removed his hand and walked out the door. His hand lingered on the door knob, "Your stupidity knows no bounds." The door clicked softly behind leaving behind a shocked looking pregnant fifteen years old girl.

* * *

><p>Date: January 9, 1989<p>

Name: Alma Winters

Time: 1100

Doctor: Gabriella Davis

Side Notes: _No __doctors __so __far __have __managed __to __have __a __break__through __with __this __young __man. __His __strange __demeanor __has __discouraged __most __doctors __but __I __have __seemed __to __have __discovered __that __those __that __had __had __some __minimal __success __were __the __female __doctors. __I __assume __this __has __to __do __with __his __upbringing __in __the __streets; __perhaps __most __of __his __tormentors __were__male? __Alma __has __been __moved __to __the __Kitty __Group. __I __have __been __assigned __to __him __for __now; __I __am __determined __to __be __the __one __to __have __made __a __breakthrough __with __him_.

Recording…

Davis: *hem* Hello, Alma… *clears throat again* I'm Dr. Gabriella Davis; you can call me Gabby if you would like. My friends call me that.

Alma: …

[There's scratching noises in the background.]

Davis: If you keep pressing on those color pencils too hard, they will break.

[The noise subsides.]

Davis: You don't like the male doctors, do you?

Alma: …

Davis: You don't, huh? You don't seem to have a problem with Dean Walker.

Alma: …

Davis: Alma, can you please give me an\ spoken answer.

Alma: …*incoherent noise*

Davis: Not going to answer? How are you supposed to get help, if you won't answer any questions?

Alma: …

Davis: *barely audible sigh* Do you like drawing?

Alma: … *whispers* yes

Davis: *slightly brighter tone* What else do you like Alma, maybe I can get it for you.

Alma: …*whispers* Flower

Davis: What kind of flowers?

Alma: …

Alma: I like things that aren't nice, Gabby. I like you. You're not nice, like Flower. Flower wasn't pretty, you're like flower. [There's a shuffling sound in the background.] I don't like pretty things. I like you… *in a childlike tone* hard to look at.

Davis: *in a tight tone* That's not a nice thing to say, Alma.

Alma: …

End Recording…

Final Side Note: _I __managed __to __make __some __contact __with __Alma. __I __may __not __like __what __was __said __but __some __contact __is __better __then __none __at __all. __I __have __cause __for __concern __on __Ms. __FightingBear __though, __if __what __Alma __has __said __was __true, __then __I __suspect __that __Alma __has __little __to __care __about __the __girl __he __has __befriended. __I __don__'__t __think __he __even __cares __for __friendships __at __all, __although __it __is __too __soon __to __tell._

* * *

><p><strong>Review.<strong>


End file.
